


Fishy Adventures

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dean Has a Crush, Goofy Dean, Humor, M/M, Sarcastic Castiel, silly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 03:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: Prompt: "I accidentally walked in on you stealing my best friend’s fish because you were mad at them for stealing your sandwich"





	Fishy Adventures

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt I came up with, with the help of a prompt generator (pretty cool & helpful, check it out):  
> http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator

 It was the perfect plan.

Dean would sneak into her room while she was out, he would reach into her aquarium with a plastic bag, and he would grab.

He would steal her fish.

He wouldn’t kill it, of course; he wasn’t a monster. But he would keep it safe in its little bag, with some gross fish food bits he’ll take from her fish food box, until she would notice it was gone.

He was a mastermind of pure evil.

In his socks and sweatpants, he tiptoed across the hall until he reached room number twenty-four. He turned the knob slowly, opened the door to a slit… and then, swiftly, flung the door open and shut it behind him, skipping around notebooks and stumbling on piles of clothes.

“This place is filthy,” he muttered to himself, watching the floor carefully as he made his way around the obstacles. He didn’t want to leave incriminating traces behind.

He reached the desk and pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Excuse you,” it said. Dean’s breath stopped, his fist tightening around the bag.

“Charlie?” He let out, although the voice clearly did not belong to Charlie, as it was low and deep – deeper than his own voice.

“No,” the voice answered. Dean turned around to find himself standing, barefoot and red handed, in front of his sister’s roommate. “This is Castiel.”

“Oh,” he blurted out dumbly. “Um. Hi.”

Castiel was nothing like Charlie had described him: he wasn’t dorky or awkward, he wasn’t nerdy or annoyingly aloof or painfully sarcastic.

What he was, was Dean’s type.

Not dashingly handsome, or in possession of an objectively beautiful manly jawline. Not everyone’s type. But he was Dean’s type. His brow was raised over translucent blue eyes, his hair was messy, and his outfit almost comically mirrored Dean’s – sweatpants and a T-shirt, barefoot. He was standing next to a bed that was seemingly his, looking absolutely gorgeous with his day-old stubble.

“Hi, um,” Dean went on with great wit. “I’m uh- I’m here for a reason.”

Wait. That wasn’t his name. He’d meant to say his name. “I’m… Dean. I am Dean.”

“Winchester?” Castiel asked. His eyes, that had narrowed into a squint during Dean’s devastating brain fart, widened back into a normal size now as he uncrossed his arms from his chest.

“Yeah,” Dean said, scratching his head with his plastic bag. He caught himself mid-motion and dropped his arm. God, he was making an awful first impression.

“I heard a lot about you,” Castiel said. He sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said with half a chuckle. He wanted to bury himself deep in a sand. Nonspecifically. Just… any sand. He doubted Charlie had said anything good about him.

“All good things, I hope,” said Castiel. Dean nodded.

“Yep.” Nope. Not at all.

“So… what are you doing?” Gesturing in his general direction, Castiel plopped down on his bed and assumed a position that he’d presumably been in before Dean had burst into the room with malicious intentions.

“Nothing,” Dean claimed quickly. “Just, um… my sister, she asked me… a favor.”

“A favor?” Castiel asked. His brow arched again, and on his lips – Dean could swear – there was the shadow of a smile.

Now it was Dean’s turn to squint. For a moment, it seemed, they were having a stare-down. Then he said, slowly, “what do you know?”

“Well,” Castiel straightened his back. His intense stare, not leaving Dean’s eye for a single moment, was as intimidating as it was oddly intimate. “I happened to hear,” he said, “a few days ago, from my dear friend Charlie, that she stole someone’s sandwich. And…” he tilted his head. “That that someone might be coming after her. She told me to keep an eye.” He said the last part of the sentence while squinting, as if emphasizing the words.

“Interesting,” Dean replied. He tucked the hand holding his bag behind his back. A wasted effort. “And who might’ve she stole that sandwich from, did she happen to tell you?”

There was that shadow of a smile again. “A brother of hers. Tall, brown hair, who goes here and has a dorm right down the hall.”

“See,” Dean explained. “You’re getting all mixed up with our brother Sammy. I’m, see, here to help her… make sure her things are, y’know, safe. In case our brother might come and try to avenge his dead ham ‘n cheese sandwich.”

“Sixteen year old Sam,” Castiel said, his lips pressing together. Charlie never mentioned the dude had nerves of steel when it came to keeping a poker face. “Lives here, down the hallway.”

Dean shuffled his feet between an empty coke can and an A graded essay. “He’s in advance placement,” he said. And then something wonderful happened; Castiel’s poker face broke, and they both smiled at each other for a moment.

“Well then,” Castiel said, pulled his lips into a solemn expression and picked up a book. “She stole his sandwich, after all.”

“She sure did,” Dean said, watching with confusion as Castiel thumbed through the pages of his book until he reached the page he was searching for – doing all of that without breaking eye contact with Dean. It was not time for relief yet.

“It’s a noble thing you’re doing, watching over her things for her,” he said. “You really live up to everything she’s said about you.” And Dean almost choked on air because that was hard, cold, unequivocal sarcasm in Castiel’s voice, right before he looked down to his book without batting an eyelid. “I’ll be here, minding my own business.”

Slightly stunned and lost as to how to proceed with his operation, Dean turned round and faced his sister’s fishbowl once again. It was a big one, containing seven fish in all colors of the rainbow. He gently removed one of the fish and sealed the bag, filled now with water and one fish. He took out another bag and filled it with fish food. Then he turned around and took a triumphant step – straight into Castiel.

Losing his balance, Dean stumbled right into Castiel’s arms and they plummeted into the ground. Somewhere along the way down, Dean lost hold of the fish and it swooped through the air, landing in Castiel’s reaching hand. The culprit himself, as if the handsome and mysterious stranger’s first impression of him couldn’t get any worse, landed right on Castiel’s chest, their faces smashed together.

“You saved my fish,” Dean remarked, having nothing else in mind that could make the situation less awkward. He stumbled onto his feet, face all red, and helped Castiel up.

“I also put it in danger,” Castiel pointed out. “So I guess they cancel each other out.”

“What were you doing there-?”

Now it was Castiel’s face that reddened, and he handed over the fish and scratched at his arm.

“I… I wanted to know which one you were stealing.”

Dean held back a snort, and smiled suspiciously instead. “Are you going to snitch on me?”

“Mother of God, no – I’m just helping you make sure that Yellow is safe.” He gestured vaguely at the fish in Dean’s hand. They were standing close together, surrounded by piles of clothes they both seemed to pretend were closer around them than they actually were. Not that he had any chance of… anything, with Beautiful Cas, but really, Cas could take a step back just as well as he could, and they felt each other’s breaths and neither of them moved.

“Yellow is her favorite, after all,” Dean said, a little breathless.

“Yellow is her favorite,” Cas repeated.

And then they just stood there. And Cas just kept staring at him with this expression like he _dared_ him to do something, and he couldn’t tell whether that something was win the staring contest, walk away or throw the fish and dip him into a kiss in the air.

At last, he cleared his throat. “I should go,” he said. “Before my sister gets here.”

Slowly, Cas nodded, and Dean moved past him with rigid movements. As if waiting for Cas to call him to stop and, maybe, declare something. But he wasn’t; of course he wasn’t.

He reached the door and turned the knob, about to turn round and say something casual like, _thanks for the help,_ or, _do you wanna be my husband forever?_ When something clicked in his mind and he swung around.

“Dreamy!” He called, pointing at Cas accusingly. He tried to take a step forward, but instead slipped over a sweatshirt and fell on his bottom. Cas watched him, rather speechless.

“That’s the one good thing she said about you,” Dean went on, standing up clumsily with one hand.

“Your sister said I was dreamy?” Cas tilted his head again in a motion that made Dean want to bite his own lip. His cheeks reddened deep, and he didn’t know what took over him when he called,

“Yes, and she was absolutely right!”

Regretting his moment of bravery the instant the words left his mouth, Dean reached for the door and went for his escape.

“Wait,” Cas said. His voice was quiet, and his eyes – Dean could swear on the original Kinder Egg’s grave, his eyes were full of emotion. Dean saw Cas’ lips moving, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words coming from his mouth – the words in his mind were louder and stronger: _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

Cas looked at him expectantly, and it seemed like he was waiting for an answer.

“Kiss me,” Dean blurted, without thought. It wasn’t his fault, really, when those were the only two words left in his mind. Every other thought was devoted to Cas’ hands, to his eyes, to his hair, and to a conscious effort not to drop Yellow from his hand.

“What?” He heard Cas saying, the look in his eyes shifting from _kiss me deeply_ to _what._

“Yes!” Dean was breathing heavy, and back to wishing he were buried in sand. “I meant yes. I’d love to hang out sometime. Bye now!”

Out the door and down the corridor he fled, trying to keep his cool in front of passing college students as if he didn’t just embarrass himself in front of a guy he would have to survive three years across the hall from.

“Dean! Wait.” Halfway to his room, he heard Cas’ voice again. He turned around to find Cas standing before him, the door to his room ajar.

“I’m-“ Dean started to apologize, but Cas took his face in his hands and looked into his eyes for a moment, giving Dean a chance to push him away. He didn’t

He was gone in the warmth of Cas’ palms and the color of his eyes. And then Cas leaned in and touched his lips and they kissed there, in the center of the hallway, in their pajamas and with disheveled hair and with one of Dean’s hands clutching a fish bag and the other up Cas’ back. And like in some Hollywood movie, it felt like slow motion, and there was no applause or a camera turning in a 360° angle around them. But there was Cas’ scent, his lips, his chest against Dean’s when he breathed. And it was so much better than Hollywood.


End file.
